Read My Mind
by LolaB
Summary: Harry & Sirius slash. Post OOTP. AU. Harry managed to rescue Sirius from the veil, and now they are developing feelings neither one is sure how to deal with. Laughter, tears, sex, angst, all the good stuff.
1. Intro & Notes

**Title: **Read My Mind

**Rating: **R

**Pairing: **Sirius/Harry (w/ history of James/Sirius and plenty of Sirius/Remus)

**Word Count: **ca. 18,500

**Disclaimer: **J.K. Rowling is god. (I figure that oughta pretty much cover it.)

**Warning(s): **Gay, gay lovin'. No, really: none that I can think of. Oh, except a healthy dose of Angst. So, I guess, character death. (I'm not saying who, so nyah.)

**Summary/Notes:**

All right, here goes. Post-OOTP; shamelessly AU. Harry dodged Lupin and went through the veil after Sirius. It was hell, but he retrieved him. Since then Harry and Sirius's relationship has been just that much stronger, more intimate, with this intense but unspoken connection, and it has been growing. Voldemort escaped, so the war is still on and the Order intact (they will be joining us shortly). Although Harry went back to the Dursleys' for the first portion of the summer as always, it is his birthday and he is now returning to Grimmauld Place for the remainder of the holidays.

This is my first time writing fic in years, and my first ever Potter fic. I have probably screwed up details and logistics (I made up all that crap about hippogriffs, for example, and I have no idea if Sirius is actually a Scorpio – I just had to make him one because they are dominant, aggressive sex freaks – I should know; I live with one). So be tolerant, if you please. ;) Also, I have stolen lines here and there (or variations thereof) from everyone from Sappho to Bridget Jones to my own personal pillow talk. It's all for a good cause.

I would also like to extend massive, MASSIVE thanks to my immortal beloved, Keri, who has been my muse, my beta, and contributed numerous lines and ideas (and all the lurve inspiration) to this story, despite the fact that slash grosses her out like whoa. 3

/mush.

All chapter-intro song lyrics are from The Killers' "Read My Mind" (except the epilogue; I had to use at least one line from the song I basically had on repeat the entire time I wrote this). Because this site is so anti-asterisk, a row of dots (...) indicates a change in point of view. Etc., etc.

Hope you enjoy!

P.S. I give hand jobs in exchange for feedback.

(Hand jobs may also come in the form of cookies, emoticons, and/or comment replies.)


	2. I

**I.**

_I pull up to the front of your driveway_

_With magic soaking my spine_

_Can you read my mind?_

_-----------------------------------------------_

"Harrypottersexysixteenoldhogwarts."

"...Sorry?"

Harry peered down at the grimy, knobby, rag-attired shape of Kreacher, who had one hand on the door he had just opened, and was hanging his head as though too ashamed of what he was saying to dare hold it upright.

"Harry Potter," he repeated at a significantly reduced tempo, each word clearly costing him not only dignity but what looked like physical pain, "is the sexiest sixteen-year-old at Hogwarts."

Harry grinned, catching on. "I'm not sixteen until midnight tonight, you know."

"Close enough," a voice countered.

Harry looked up to see the smiling form of his godfather, dressed in jeans and a snug white t-shirt, leaning against a wall across the room behind Kreacher with his arms crossed over his chest, undeniably immensely pleased with the performance he had coerced out of his elf. Said elf promptly exited stage right, head still hung, and now muttering obscenities as he disappeared into an adjoining room.

"I can't believe you made him do that!" Harry laughed.

"Well, why not? It's true."

"I'm sure Malfoy would disagree."

"Eh, he's just jealous. 'Sides, it was worth it just to watch Kreacher suffer so."

Harry idly noted how glad he was that Hermione hadn't been around to hear that, and they watched one another for a moment, still grinning. Sirius looked much the same as he had when they'd parted in June at King's Cross, albeit happier by miles – but Harry himself, suddenly, felt much older.

"_I don't want to go," Harry had insisted, pointlessly, childishly, as Sirius pulled him into a massive embrace, the smell of laundry detergent and cologne and summer filling Harry's nose._

"_I know, kiddo," he'd said, holding him tighter. "I know."_

_All around them people were bustling across platforms nine and ten, unaware, as though the two of them were invisible, and Harry thought it very strange that life could go on so effortlessly and the sun could still shine so brightly when he felt as cheerless as he did – and right then he felt a month and a half might as well have been a lifetime._

_Sirius pulled away first, inhaled quickly to hide what was unmistakably a sniffle, and gave Harry his best attempt at a smile, while Harry still maintained death grips on the arms of his godfather's sweater._

_Uncle Vernon emitted a noise of distinct disgust and impatience behind them. They pretended to ignore it, sharing amused, though concealed, grins between them: their first secret. Sirius leaned forward, planted a kiss on Harry's forehead, and took a step back, before giving in and roughly pulling him against his chest once more._

"_I love you," he whispered into Harry's hair._

_Harry, unable to remember ever having heard the words before in his life and consequently failing to develop a suitable response, merely froze. Something leapt inside him that had never leapt before, and suddenly he wanted to hear the words again, over and over._

"_You know that, don't you?" Sirius added quickly. Harry nodded into his shirt._

_I love you too, he wanted to say, so badly, so badly he could feel it catching in his throat, begging for release, and he half wished Sirius were some wildly talented Occlumens who could read his mind, if only for a moment... and half wished he couldn't, for fear he would find thoughts of which even Harry himself was yet unaware –_

"_E-NOUGH – of – this – sentimental – RUBBISH!" bellowed Uncle Vernon. "Either you come with us now, or we leave you here!"_

_Harry, thinking this wasn't such a bad idea at all, looked hopefully at Sirius as they separated. Sirius smiled again, ruffled Harry's hair in a last attempt at lightheartedness, and stepped away, Harry's heart sinking at the sudden lack of contact. "Go on," he choked._

_Obediently he followed Uncle Vernon through the crowd, glancing back every chance he caught. Sirius grew smaller and smaller until he vanished completely behind the brick wall of the platform._

Clearly, Harry thought now, he indeed must have been years younger.

A hint of blush, unbidden and inexplicable, was ominously threatening to rise up his face if he continued to just stand there staring, so did all he could think to do: he ran over the door's threshold and leapt into Sirius's arms – quite literally – legs wrapping around his waist, defying any suspicion that he was even a minute older than he had been a month ago – or ten years ago, for that matter. For a brief moment, the smell of detergent and cologne encased him again, and he remembered how vividly the words had felt as they'd met his ears, and again, he felt the overwhelming need to say them back – even a month and a half late.

Sirius laughed, toppling backward but regaining his balance as he returned the embrace, before setting Harry on his feet.

"One thing about getting older," he observed, rubbing his lower back, "is you actually grow in _size _as well, you see."

"Sorry," Harry grinned sheepishly.

Sirius was still smiling. "No worries. Vertebrae are highly overrated. Now come on, I've got a surprise for you."

He wandlessly _Accio_'d Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage from the walkway outside the door, plopped them both down in the foyer (Hedwig snapped a noise of discontent), and led them both through the house toward what Harry remembered, during Mrs. Weasley's cleaning frenzy of the previous summer, as a useless and oversized living room (though this description was naturally biased, as he had been the one to clean it), which hadn't been used as long as he could remember.

"I only got to celebrate one birthday with you, see," Sirius explained, "and you were only a wee thing then, so I've had to make up for lost time."

He swung the door open and Harry peered inside. The entire room had been decorated lavishly from top to bottom. A massive red and gold banner on the ceiling had been bewitched to float around the room, boasting the words, "Happy 16th Birthday Harry!" in bright letters. Candles floated in mid-air, and tables that looked as though they would soon bear massive quantities of food stood parked against the walls. Lights from seemingly nowhere bathed the room in colors that changed depending on where you were standing, and strange balloons Harry had never seen before floated about freely, shifting shape and size every few seconds.

Harry gaped at Sirius in awe. "You – did you – all of this? Yourself?"

Sirius shrugged. "Kreacher helped."

"Oh, I'll bet he did. Probably popped more balloons than he blew up. Sirius, this is fantastic! But – " he broke off abruptly.

Sirius's face fell at once. "What?"

"It's just – isn't it a bit much? I mean, for just two of us?"

"Ah, yes." Sirius's smile returned as quickly as it had vanished. "Suppose I forgot to mention that. I've gathered all your friends together and they should be here within the hour. Hermoine's bringing Muggle music, apparently; God help us."

Harry beamed. "Everyone?"

"Well, everyone from Gryffindor. I didn't want to catch Malfoy and Kreacher snogging in a corner; Lord knows they'd hit it off."

Harry grimaced at the thought. "I never thought I'd say this, but Malfoy could do better."

"Hmm. Who did you have in mind?"

Harry shrugged. "Your mum?"

At this, the painting in the hall burst into life, screeching and wailing and hurling insults at no one in particular – and at last, Harry felt the warm sensation that he was home.


	3. II

**II.**

_The stars are blazing like rebel diamonds cut out of the sun…_

_Can you read my mind?_

_----------------------------------------------_

And somehow it happened.

Thinly veiled desires to recapture a lost youth had provided Sirius with adequate nerve to supply the entire (underage) party with enough firewhiskey to moderately inebriate the mass of twenty or so Gryffindors who had now inched their way to the center of the room and were bouncing around to the music. Music, Harry noted with an amused and slightly impressed glance in Hermione's direction, that inspired body movements he was certain must have borderlined on illegal in some countries. No one was drunk enough to be dangerous; just enough to be entertaining – especially to Harry, who had been so busy eating cake, opening presents, and doing everything in his power to avoid confronting his two left feet, that he had yet to try the damn substance, and now couldn't find a single drop left in sight.

He didn't care, though; just watching everyone making fools of themselves in the midst of raucous, upbeat Muggle music was enough to keep a grin on his face as he watched from the corner, utterly content in the moment. Ron, who'd get tipsy after two butterbeers, was alternately dancing with and falling over Seamus, who seemed nothing less than delighted by the prospect of either, and Harry wondered how he had never seen it before in the way Seamus looked at Ron. Still reeling with this awareness, his eyes drifted to Ginny, who was whispering something in Lavender's ear that was clearly nothing short of sin, because Lavender erupted in giggles and blushes and slid her arm around Ginny before they disappeared in the crowd.

It was amazing, really, he thought, what alcohol could draw out of oneself.

His stomach leapt momentarily at the fear of what he himself might do, had he had the opportunity for a drink.

Before his mind dared entertain any of those possibilities, however, his eyes continued to drift across the group –

– and then it happened.

The shock value of the vision was doubtlessly augmented by the fact that Hermione and Sirius were unquestionably the two people in the room, next to Harry, who'd had the _least_ to drink. Hermione had taken one swig of firewhiskey, spat it out all over Ron, and switched to butterbeer; and Sirius had limited himself to one bottle in an amusingly parental attempt to appear responsible.

And yet, there they were.

Harry did not fail to notice, perhaps for only the second or third time in their lives, that Hermione had breasts. Quite nice ones, in fact, that were now straining against a small tank top that had been moderately drenched by some liquid at some point in the evening; whether water, alcohol, or sweat, it was unclear, but it rendered a somewhat translucent quality to the material that was virtually impossible not to notice, and the not noticing became even more difficult by the fact that she was dancing – not in any utterly sinful manner, but one, nevertheless, that would bring a blush to any observing man's – or woman's – cheeks.

This, however, was not what caught Harry's throat in a knot. What did, in fact, catch Harry's throat in a knot was the fact... that it _didn't_.

Harry would have expected anyone else beside her, any other hands on her hips, any other body swaying in time with hers – anyone at all.

But not Sirius.

He blinked once, twice, processing the scene. Eyes drinking in as much as possible, trying to justify the wrongness, somehow. But that was just it – it _wasn't_ wrong. It certainly reached a level of inappropriateness over which Mrs. Weasley would undoubtedly have gone wide-eyed, but aside from that, it was innocent. Hermione was smiling, laughing even, clearly enjoying projecting intense flirtations on someone she felt safe with, someone with whom she knew it wouldn't really mean anything. And Sirius was no less content, grinning like he was sixteen again, slipping a hand around her waist, whispering shamelessly into her ear and causing her laughter to start up again.

There was nothing wrong with it. Nothing at all. It was innocent, meaningless fun. It was innocent to _them_, and that's all that mattered.

Except that it wasn't. It wasn't innocent, and far from meaningless. Not to Harry.

He watched them silently until the song ended, at which point Sirius planted a ceremonious kiss on Hermione's hand and darted across the room toward Ron, who had gathered a rapt crowd with his attempts to employ the shape-shifting balloons as hand puppets.

Hermione spotted Harry across the room and walked over with a big smile, pouring herself a drink of water.

"What are you doing over here by yourself?" she demanded. "It's _your _birthday, you know."

Harry didn't answer. 

"Your godfather is a complete nutter," she laughed, shaking her head. "Now come on. You can't stay here all night. Dance with me."

She reached for his hand, but he grabbed hers first, and in one ungraceful movement, had dragged her out of the room into the hall.

"What was that?" he demanded, breath rapidly shortening.

Hermione blinked, clutching her drink in one motionless hand. "What was _what_?"

"Th – that!" Harry sputtered, wondering why his recurring inability to speak eloquently at tense moments felt the need to resurface just now. "You – out there. With him."

She leaned in skeptically. "You mean... _dancing_?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, if that's what you call it."

"What?!" she spat. "What are you on about?"

"He was all over you! And you – you were –"

Hermione opened her mouth to say something; closed it; her eyes widened, and suddenly she burst out laughing.

"It's. not. funny," Harry hissed behind clenched teeth.

"Harry, we were just messing around! Having fun! It wasn't anything serious!"

Harry, too, opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out, nor did any coherent thought occur to him that could quite counter such a plainly presented and unfortunately logical argument.

As he was about to blurt something out anyway, he stopped, noticing a sudden disturbing look on Hermione's face – some unsettling combination of amusement, epiphany, and satisfaction.

He narrowed his eyes. "...What?"

A smile played on her lips. "You're jealous."

"What?! Jealous of Sirius for getting to dance with you? Hermione, no offense, you're lovely, but you know I don't look at you that way – "

She was shaking her head. "No."

"No what?"

"Not jealous of _Sirius_."

A meaningful look lingered on her face a moment longer, before she spun around and marched back into the room.

Harry, feeling suddenly glued to his spot on the floor, stared at the empty space where she had been standing moments before. His ears were ringing, and the last four words to leave her mouth were echoing in his head. A wave of indeterminate sentiment rushed through him, an alarming mixture of denial, fear, sudden awareness, and something he had never felt before, at least not to this degree. Something that made him feel both heated and nauseous all at once; something he was craving both to explore and dispel.

Too overwhelmed with it for the moment, he chose to dispel it, and headed back into the room, the welcome onslaught of noise and chaos distracting him.

He glanced around, far more cautiously than before, though he wasn't sure why. The only thing he _was_ sure of was the odd feeling that something in the room was missing.

His eyes scanned the space; Sirius was gone.

A hot, sinking fear struck Harry's stomach, as a sudden paranoia forced him to wonder whether or not their conversation had been overheard, and by whom.

Over in a corner, Hermione and a few others were helping Ron to his feet as he tripped over a balloon that had deceptively evolved into the shape of a broomstick; all of them seemed to have succumbed to laughter. Harry stepped back out into the hall and closed the door. The house at once felt immensely silent, the only sound the muffled music and laughter behind the door.

He took a few tentative steps toward the kitchen. "Sirius?"

Silence continued to greet him with every step. He headed halfway up the staircase and called out his godfather's name again; silence.

This ritual repeated in two or three more rooms, Harry finally sank into a chair in a deserted sunroom facing the backyard, and he was immediately surprised to realize he had never actually _been_ in the backyard; he was hard pressed to think of a time when he'd even looked out a window to see it. The wall of windows now in front of him boasted an immeasurable expanse of darkness, a number of trees, and some odd sparkling area in the distance. Succumbing to curiosity, Harry rose from the plush armchair, forced open the ancient, creaky door handle, and stepped outside.

The lukewarm summer night air was like magic against his skin. He inhaled a deep breath, drawing in the scents of the trees; of grass; of sticky, dizzyingly tranquil late July. A brief, wet plopping sound reached his ears from somewhere off in the sparkling vicinity. He stopped to listen, and after a few seconds, the sound repeated. He stepped forward, and forward, until he made out the sparkling mass to be some body of water, and a dark, unmistakably human form seated at the edge.

A twig crackled under his shoe; the figure turned his head; wild, wavy black hair whipped around the side of his face. He smiled.

"Hey, you."

Harry smiled back and sat down beside his godfather, who had accumulated a small pile of flat, smooth stones beside himself. "What are you doing out here?"

Sirius selected a stone, fondled it in his fingers for a moment, and flung it out across the lake. It skipped half a dozen times over the surface before slicing the water and vanishing.

"So many people... not used to all that noise," Sirius explained with little grin. "Just needed a bit of air."

"You left them all to fend for themselves?"

"Nah; I asked Hermione to keep an eye on them." They both laughed, and Sirius dropped his gaze to the stones before tentatively raising his eyes to Harry's. "I'm not a very good parent, am I?"

Harry smiled warmly at him. "No one expects you to be a parent, Sirius. Least of all me."

They shared a look for a moment, and Harry himself wondered quite what he had meant by that. Neither seemed to know.

"Well, maybe not," Sirius sighed at last, tossing another stone. "But James, he – I'm supposed to look after you," he said decisively, as though this settled the matter.

Harry swallowed, hoping he sounded as old as he suddenly felt. "I don't need looking after, you know."

"Oh, really?" Sirius grinned impishly, one hand darting out to pinch Harry's leg. "Quite sure about that, are you?"

Harry sat up as tall as he could. "I'm almost of age now. I've escaped Voldemort more times than anyone I know."

"All right, all right," Sirius relented, still grinning, shooting him a sideways glance as he skipped another stone. "So you don't need looking after." After eight jumps, it disappeared beneath the surface and Sirius turned to face Harry, eyes unblinking. "What _do_ you need, then?"

The question had been so unexpected that Harry felt the same strangled, trapped sensation he'd experienced back at King's Cross, when the words he so desperately wanted to speak refused to leave his mouth.

"I..."

That same cessation of time that always seemed to appear lately when their eyes locked struck them now. Sirius held his gaze, but Harry crumbled and dropped his eyes to the pile of stones.

"I... I need to learn how to skip stones."

_Right, Harry,_ he chided himself angrily. _That is_ exactly_ what you need._

Sirius chuckled. "Never done it, eh?"

"Who'd have taught me?"

"All right. Here." Sirius thrust a stone into Harry's hand. "Hold it between these fingers – like this – yes, good. Now you want to flick your wrist, just lightly – like this – " He demonstrated. "– and try to get it parallel with the water, as close as you can."

He pressed Harry's arm down until it was nearly level with the surface of the water. Harry fumbled with it for a moment, aimed, and tossed it out. Instead of skipping, the stone landed in the water in front of them with a loud splash, showering them both with cool drops of lakewater.

"Brilliant!" Sirius laughed, shaking water off his arm. "Bloody fantastic, love."

Harry could feel the color rise in his cheeks. "I guess I'm better at catching small objects than throwing them."

"Obviously." Sirius winked. He scrambled to his feet and repositioned himself behind Harry, reaching his arms forward, grabbing a stone with one hand and closing his other around Harry's.

Harry felt something skip, and it wasn't the stone.

"Here we go." His fingers folded around Harry's on the stone, and with his hand, he guided Harry's into position, wiggling Harry's wrist a bit to loosen it up. "Just relax."

Harry wasn't entirely sure why, but as Sirius's soft breath tickled the back of his neck, he got the feeling that relaxing was the last thing he would be able to do at this point.

"Good... okay... now ready?"

Harry felt the strong, warm hand tighten on his, guiding him through the motion, as the stone snapped out of his fingers and ricocheted across the water.

"Ha!" Sirius barked, resuming his original seat beside the pile of rocks, but – or so it seemed to Harry – a few inches closer.

Harry beamed, pulling off his glasses to clean off a drop of water in an effort to distract himself from the sinking sensation that hit him when Sirius had broken their contact. But just as quickly as it had gone, it was back: he felt that same strong, warm hand reach his face, holding his chin and guiding his features into the moonlight.

Harry looked up, his heart skipping a beat, and met the gaze in front of him. Sirius was staring.

"My goodness," he breathed. "You really do have Lily's eyes."

Harry didn't dare move, worried that if he did, Sirius would take his hand away and the air would rush back to Harry's available skin. He sensed a thumb brush over his jawline, and all at once his mouth felt arid.

As unexpectedly as it had come, Sirius's hand and gaze dropped to the ground. He picked up another stone, now seemingly for no other purpose but to occupy his fingers.

Harry busied himself with cleaning off his glasses, which, he refused to notice, were already plenty clean.

"Gimme those," Sirius growled playfully, snatching the glasses from Harry's lap and sliding them onto his face. "How do I look?" he asked in a pseudo-intellectual voice.

"I can't bloody tell, seeing as you've got my glasses," Harry retorted with a grin.

To remedy this, Sirius closed the space between them until their faces were inches apart. "Well?"

"You – " Harry choked, unable to keep from laughing. "You look, er, very intelligent."

Sirius nodded absently. "Thought so. And _here_," he proclaimed in a booming, professor-like voice, making a sweeping gesture with an arm toward the sky, "we have... hmm, let's see..." His finger pointed toward a grouping of stars just overhead. "Ah, very fitting, there's Leo, specially for the birthday boy..."

Harry followed the line made by Sirius's outstretched finger and stared up into the black mass above.

"And just over there, it looks like we've got... yes, there's me. Scorpius."

"Aren't you named after one? Some part of Canis Major?"

Sirius looked at him with a raised eyebrow and, adopting the most pronounced impersonation of Uncle Vernon Harry had ever witnessed, declared haughtily, "Hmm... so they _are_ teaching you something useful at that freak school of yours, are they?"

"A bit," Harry smiled.

"Good..." he replied liquidly, with an appraising nod. "Now, question is, can you _find _it?"

Harry laughed. "Not a chance. I've slept through most of my Astronomy lessons."

"Bad boy. You're not supposed to turn out like me." Sirius smacked his arm lightly.

Harry smacked back. "You didn't turn out so bad."

"That has yet to be determined," Sirius grinned. "All right, let's see..."

He removed Harry's glasses and squinted up at the black, sparkled sky. Harry took advantage of his godfather's intense concentration to watch him undetected, drinking in details he wouldn't otherwise dare to contemplate so freely: the way he shook his shaggy hair out of his face, only to have it fall back into his eyes a moment later... his eyes... electric blue during the day; Patronus-like silver under the moon's caress... the moon... its beams dancing over the tops of the tattoos visible under the edges of his shirt... his shirt... hugging an undeniably well-muscled figure, hardened by a dozen years in prison, but no less beautiful for it...

"Aha!"

Harry snapped out of... well, whatever had required snapping out of, and looked up.

"Right there." Sirius was pointing to some spot in the sky. "See it?"

Harry directed his eyes above, but in vain. "Er... maybe?"

Sirius shifted closer to Harry on the ground. "That group of three, right there."

"I see about twenty groups of three."

"Cheeky git," Sirius grumbled with a sideways grin, shifting even closer until their bodies were nearly touching. He reached over and took Harry's arm, sliding a hand up to reach his fingers, and raised their arms together. He leaned in, the side of his head pressed against Harry's so their gazes were level, and pointed.

"There," he whispered.

It took Harry a moment, perhaps a moment more for how rapidly his heart was pounding, but he found it. The three, and then another, and another, until he could make out the vague outline of a dog-like figure.

As though reading his mind, Sirius smile beside him, and Harry shivered. "You see it, don't you?"

Harry nodded. "Which one are you?"

"The brightest one, of course," Sirius replied cheekily, leaning away now Harry had found it.

"Of course," Harry grinned.

"Regulus is the wee one... he _was_, too, the bastard."

Harry giggled, eyes no longer on the sky.

At long last, Sirius dropped his eyes from the sky and looked over at Harry, who this time neglected to conceal the fact that he had been staring at him. Sirius looked only mildly surprised.

There it was, again. That look, that pause, that time-stopping gaze between them that seemed to set Harry's blood on fire every time it happened.

Sirius finally gave him a halfhearted smile and looked away, reaching for something on his other side, which Harry soon recognized as a bottle of firewhiskey. He took a long swig and rested the bottle on one knee.

"Where did you nick that from?" Harry demanded. "They were all gone by the time I got to them!"

Sirius grinned wickedly. "Don't think I surrendered my whole stash to you lot, now do you?"

Harry reached for the bottle, but Sirius was quicker; he held it up in the air, laughing gloriously. Harry got to his knees and reached over him, but Sirius spread himself flat on the ground. Harry, in turn, fell on top of him, by which point they were both laughing.

Sirius had released his grip on the bottle enough for Harry to snatch it from his fingers, as they both sat up, clothes significantly more rumpled.

"All right, now listen," Sirius began in his most godfatherly tone. "You can't just take a sip, or you won't get it down. It's like a shot – just gulp it, don't think about it."

Harry looked at the strands of smoke wafting up from the bottle in his hand, thinking whatever was inside couldn't possibly have resembled something fit to enter the human body. But, resolutely determined not to look like a pussy in front of Sirius, he lifted the bottle to his lips and downed the biggest gulp he could manage.

It tasted something like 300-year-old cough syrup for the first several seconds – until it finally entered his system. If he could think of any way to describe it, Harry might have thought it felt like liquid magic. His veins heated, everything jumped, and the sensation was beyond words.

He emitted a small choke. "...Whoa."

Sirius smiled. "Yeah, I know. All right, give it back." He reached for the bottle.

"Hey, no fair!" Harry held it away long enough to down another mouthful.

"You little drunk, you." He reached over to tickle Harry mercilessly until he had no choice but to surrender the bottle.

"Not – fair!" Harry stammered, regaining his breath. "Everyone else got as much as they wanted!"

"Well, I'm supposed to take care of you," Sirius decided matter-of-factly.

Harry clamped one hand over Sirius's on the bottle, though Sirius's grip was stronger. Their eyes met, and smiles danced on their lips.

"I'm. not. a child," Harry stated softly, but with intensity enough to cause Sirius to swallow. Hard.

"I can see that," he choked in response, and his fingers released the bottle.

Harry, triumphantly, took a final swig before setting it down.

"You know what I think?" Sirius mused.

"Hmm?"

His eyes, now twinkling with mischief, met Harry's.

"I think we should go swimming."


	4. III

**III.**

_A subtle kiss that no one sees..._

_----------------------------------------_

"...What?!" Harry began, but Sirius was already on his feet, pulling Harry up by the hand.

"Come on! I haven't been in this lake since I was your age!"

"But – I – " He broke off, suddenly plagued by a question that had entered his mind when he first stepped outside. "How on earth is there a lake in the middle of London, anyhow?"

Sirius furrowed his brow as though thinking hard. "You know, that's a good question. Or it _might_ be, assuming you _didn't believe in magic_."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the display of insolence, but Sirius was already laughing and knee-deep in water, still fully clothed.

Harry gulped, mind flashing briefly to the February before last, the last time he remembered stepping into anything remarkably similar. "What – what's in there?" he asked casually.

"Not grindylows," Sirius called as though reading his mind.

"But... what, then?"

The man in the water threw his head back as he laughed. "Scared, Potter?"

"In your dreams, Black."

Even in the dark, Harry could sense the raising of an eyebrow. "How would you know what's in my dreams?"

Harry took a few tentative steps toward the water.

"FISH, Harry. Trout. Bass. Guppies. Minnows. There's also a bit of sand on the bottom, too, I'm sorry, is that all right?"

Harry rolled his eyes, kicking off his shoes. "Bite me."

_Author's Note: restrains self, with no small amount of difficulty, from making some smartass Gary/Dracula reference_

Sirius made some triumphant noise akin to a bark before diving headfirst into the water and vanishing.

Not bothering to undress any, either, Harry stepped into the water until it pooled at his waist, causing his t-shirt to bubble out around him. The water was still silent.

"...Sirius?"

He felt a slight whoosh of waves reach his legs underwater, and shivered.

"...SIRIUS?"

All at once a massive force swept underneath Harry's legs, lifting him into the air and tossing him ten feet across the surface of the lake. He landed with a deafening splash, emerging with hair dripping wet, Sirius cackling from across the water.

"Why you little..." Harry began, smiling devilishly before swimming over to the man in front of him, placing his hands on the top of Sirius's head, and dunking him underwater. Sirius took the opportunity to pull Harry down with him, and before long they were engaged in a war of dunking and splashing worthy of ten-year-olds.

Sirius finally held Harry at arm's length, choking on laughter and mouthfuls of water. "Stop – " he gasped only halfheartedly. "'Less you want to get thrown again."

Harry, high on laughter, water, happiness, and maybe a little lingering firewhiskey, closed his hand over the one gripping his shoulder.

"Brat," Sirius spat with a grin, catching his breath. "You forget I'm not as young as you are."

"Could have fooled me."

Still laughing, Harry found his footing on the bottom of the lake, but tripped over a strand of seaweed and toppled forward, clutching handfuls of Sirius's shirt for support. He felt strong arms, warm against the cool lake water, wrapping around him and holding him up, and he knew if he dared to lift his head again, they would be closer than he was prepared to face.

Always up for a challenge, he pulled himself upright and gazed into the eyes before him.

Fire raced under his skin, just as he knew it would, but this time it was more than fire. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the sudden drop in the pit of his stomach that reminded him of being on a roller coaster as it soared downward from the peak of the hill. Or maybe it was that tiny bead of water on Sirius's bottom lip, just begging to be swept away...

Without further thought, Harry closed the remaining inches between them and captured the bead of water – and Sirius's mouth, in the process – with his lips.

It was the briefest of kisses, or so it felt to Harry, lasting only a few seconds and defined entirely by sensation. Their mouths were like flames against the cool water enveloping their bodes; Sirius tasted like lake water and firewhiskey and heaven, and though Harry's mind had stopped working by this point he could have sworn those lips began to kiss him back, that those hands on his waist slipped under his t-shirt for the faintest instant...

"Harry!" 

They tore apart as though the fire under their skin, now racing through their mouths, had scorched them.

"Harry!" the voice from the house called again. "You out here?"

Not looking away from Sirius, who was now staring back at him from two feet away, Harry tried to answer. No sound came out. He tried again.

"Yeah – I'm here."

"Well get back in here!" the voice he now recognized as Fred or George called back excitedly. "We've just premiered our Levitating Lemondrops and everyone's bouncing off the ceiling, you can't miss it!" The door banged shut, and Fred or George was gone.

Harry, who, not for the first time that evening, had suddenly felt much, much older than his years, sensed this sensation shrinking, deflating like a balloon, and thought it amazing that he was be the same age, let alone on the same planet, as people who could possibly be concerned with candy and jokes at a time like this. The realization, coupled with the fact that Sirius's eyes had never left his, snapped him back to reality.

And of what he had just done.

He waited. Sirius was the older one, after all; he should be the one to say something – to size up the situation and make sense of it somehow. But Harry waited, and waited, and Sirius said nothing. Only looked back at him, unwavering, lips slightly parted, with an expression utterly and infuriatingly unreadable aside from its element of obvious surprise.

Harry's stomach sank, he suspected, all the way to the bottom of the lake, and then leapt back up in a panic.

_Shit._

_What have I done what have I done what have I done._

As these words and an array of other self-deprecating obscenities filled his thoughts, he felt his legs carrying him a few feet further away in the water, closer to shore... closer to escape. He moved backward, unable to drop Sirius's gaze, lest the answer he so desperately sought suddenly appear in his face. As he found himself in shallow water, he picked up his pace, and, no longer able to see that face clearly, he turned around, fumbled momentarily on the ground for his shoes and, finding them, grabbed them by the laces and tore off at full speed toward the house.

Harry made a polite appearance amidst the mass of his floating, gleefully inebriated friends, before claiming exhaustion and climbing upstairs to bed. At that moment he couldn't have been more thrilled to have his own room this year. He dried his clothes with a flick of his wand, stripped them off, and pulled on pajama pants and a t-shirt before sprawling out on his bed. Yet sleep was the last thing on his mind, as he listened to the goings-on below him. After some time he heard Sirius among the group, dutifully Flooing everyone back to their homes - everyone but the Weasleys and Hermione, Harry noticed, as he suddenly remembered the rest of the Order would be arriving tomorrow to reconvene, including the entire Weasley clan and Lupin.

He had certainly missed Lupin's presence, and a part of him welcomed the idea of a crowd. He and Sirius would have fewer chances to be alone, and thus fewer opportunities for him to confront Harry about what had happened.

Safety in numbers, Harry thought ruefully.

The other parts of him filled with immediate resentment. _Not_ being alone with Sirius was the last thing in the world he wanted.

As the noise downstairs died out, he heard the commotion of Hermione and the Weasleys dragging a happily half-conscious Ron up the stairs, still clutching, from what he could decipher from the noise, one of the strange balloons. When they had all disappeared into their respective rooms, Harry took what felt like his first breath since he left the lake.

He was trying not to think about how stupid and childish he must have looked, running away from the lake as though he'd just been attacked by the Giant Squid... when he felt the slightest knock on his door; for a moment he wondered if he had imagined it.

"Harry?" came a soft voice.

Harry froze. He could pretend to be asleep...

"I know you're awake."

...or not.

He rose from his bed, crossed the room, and pulled open the door. Sirius stood before him. He gave Harry a small smile.

"Hey."

"Hey." Harry averted his eyes, remembering what had happened last time he let himself stare just a moment too long into the eyes now fixed upon him.

"I, er, just remembered," Sirius began, somewhat awkwardly, "I never gave you your present."

Harry looked up. Somehow he had completely forgotten it was his birthday.

For the first time he noticed Sirius was clutching a clumsily wrapped package slightly longer but narrower than a shoebox, which he now proffered to Harry.

Harry looked from Sirius to the box. "What is it?" he asked stupidly.

"Well, open it, you silly sod."

Harry managed a weak smile, took the package, and crossed to his bed, where he set it down and got to work on the wrappings. It appeared that Sirius had established some kind of promotional arrangement with a Spellotape manufacturer, his side of the bargain being that he was required to use at least one full roll on any one package. Harry had been fumbling with it for over a minute when Sirius crossed the room.

"Er... I guess I got a little carried away." Sirius pulled out his wand, pointed it at the tape, and muttered "_Diffindo_." The mass of tape recoiled from the package and collected in a heap beside it.

Harry pulled off the paper and lifted the top of the box. A smaller container, unmistakably a wand box, lay inside, marked with an ornately lettered "J.P." on the top.

Harry looked up at Sirius, who nodded for him to continue.

Harry opened the box and carefully picked up the wand inside. It was perfectly intact, though had clearly been in use many years. Again, he looked at Sirius.

"Your dad's," he said quietly, and somewhat unnecessarily.

Harry's mouth dropped open slightly. "How..."

"Er, well," Sirius shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking around the room uncomfortably. "When they died, they left everything to me. Well, to you too. I brought everything here, hid it all in the attic, was on my way to fetch you and bring you home, and... I was carted off to Azkaban. Kreacher managed to destroy most everything else over the years, and hid whatever he couldn't get rid of... but somehow he overlooked that. I found it just weeks ago. I'd have your mum's too, but... it was destroyed when she..." His voice dropped. "When Voldemort attacked them."

Harry gazed down at the treasure in his hands in disbelief. He couldn't believe it. James had held this, lived and breathed by it. Probably helped save Harry's life with it.

He looked up at Sirius, feeling wordless, but managed, "Thank you."

Sirius nodded.

They stood awkwardly, motionlessly, for several moments, Harry feeling Sirius's eyes on him, but not quite daring to meet them.

"Harry..."

"I'm really tired. I should get some sleep."

He felt ridiculous saying it, but he couldn't bear to face what he knew Sirius had been about to say. _What happened earlier, Harry... it can't happen again, you know that, right? _Or more likely still, _Harry, I'm your godfather. I'm much older than you. It's wrong. _Or, worst of all, _I'm sorry, I just don't love you that way._

He could sense a sudden disappointment in Sirius, even without looking up. But the man simply nodded, and turned to leave.

"Goodnight," he whispered before closing the door behind him.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. When he opened them, he saw the wand still in his hands. He wondered, idly...

"_Accio_," he said softly, pointing it at a pillow.

The force of the spell felt different; foreign - but undeniably functional. The pillow leapt into Harry's waiting hand.

With a small smile of wonder, he carefully replaced the wand in its box and hid it safely in his dresser before climbing into bed, at last anticipating his one escape: sleep.


	5. IV

**IV.**

_Slipping in my faith until I fall..._

_----------------------------------------_

Harry awoke the following morning to the wrath of Mrs. Weasley carrying through the house all the way from the kitchen.

"BOUNCING OFF THE CEILING! _FIREWHISKEY?_"

"Molly – "

"Don't you 'Molly' me, Sirius Black. I entrusted you to look after those children, and – "

"He did," Harry interrupted, having made it to the bottom of the stairs by this point and was ready for defensive action: scolding was the last thing Sirius needed after what Harry had put him through the night before. "He looked after us fine. No one got into any trouble."

He and Sirius shared a look. Sirius had backed into a corner looking sheepish, clearly also having just woken. His hair looked like it had had a brush with the Whomping Willow, and he was still wearing last night's clothes. A corner of his mouth rose gratefully when Harry caught his eye.

Mrs. Weasley's expression softened at once. "Oh Harry dear, _so_ good to see you," she cooed, grabbing his head and planting a kiss on either cheek. "Sit down, have some breakfast. What would you like?"

She began rattling off option after option as Harry took a seat at the table. Sirius slunk into a chair opposite him, hoping Mrs. Weasley might not notice.

"Er, muffins are fine," Harry said absently.

"Yes," Sirius agreed tentatively. "Muffins. Lovely."

Mrs. Weasley shot him a look to kill, and he dropped his head like a reprimanded child.

"I mean, er, no thanks, I'll starve."

She turned back to the stove, renewing her rant with fresh vigor. "Levitating Lemondrops... _honestly_... I never..."

Harry looked up to find Sirius watching him, smiling mischievously over Mrs. Weasley's rant. He smiled back.

"Underage drinking, inappropriate dancing... "

At this, Sirius cupped a hand over his mouth, unable to hold back the brief choke of laughter that escaped it.

By this point Harry too was convulsing in silent laughter, and for a moment, it was almost too easy to think nothing had changed.

But when Sirius finally took a deep breath, forcing himself into composure, leaned back in his chair, and bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing, Harry had the sudden unbidden thought that Sirius had never looked sexier in his entire life than he did right then.

Unable to hold down muffins or anything else after that, he excused himself from the table. He could feel his godfather's eyes on him all the way back to the stairs.

Harry did the best he could to spend the remainder of the week in his room or escaping on long, solitary walks around the lake. Lupin returned to the house that first day, and other members of the Order had been trickling in and out since then. Harry found the company surprisingly welcome; whenever he and Sirius found themselves alone, one or the other would quickly find a reason they had to be elsewhere, and thus such interaction became stagnant, frustrating beyond measure, and, to Harry, purely embarrassing.

But when they were in groups, everything seemed easy. Safety in numbers, Harry reminded himself. He was in no danger of planting any more kisses with people watching, and Sirius wasn't about to give him a lecture in the presence of others about Why What Happened Was Wrong.

And thus, so it was that Harry found himself wedged beside Lupin on a sofa that Friday evening, smiling and laughing easily. Sirius was on Lupin's other side, a safe enough distance, and a tatty old photo album was open on Lupin's lap.

"What the _hell?_"

"You don't remember that?"

"Should I?"

"I should think so; it's you."

"Is not! That's a skirt, that is!"

"You were piss-drunk, mate."

"...Oh. _...OHHHH_."

Sirius's eyes widened in recognition as he leaned over the photo album on Lupin's lap, the open page displaying a dark photograph, clearly taken at night, in which a teenager with wild black hair was running around the Quidditch pitch in a girls' Hogwarts uniform. James and Lupin were in the background, doubled over in laughter, and a young woman with long, auburn hair was chasing the imp in the skirt, wearing only a towel and looking nothing short of livid.

"Shit..." Sirius grinned. "I forgot about that."

Harry looked up from the photo. "You stole my mum's clothes??"

"_He_ made me do it!" He poked Remus in the arm, who rolled his eyes.

"You really expect Harry to believe that?" He turned to Harry, who was seated on his other side. "James dared him."

Harry grinned.

"He just wanted to see Lily in a towel," Sirius explained, as if this justified everything.

"Like you didn't," Remus countered.

"Well, who wouldn't?"

"Hey, that's my mum you're talking about!"

"Sorry," both boys grumbled.

Harry peered closer at the picture, and risked a glance up at Sirius. "Nice legs," he grinned.

Before he had time to realize what he'd just said, Sirius smirked and raised an eyebrow.

Mortified, Harry reasoned angrily to himself that he might as well have just planted another kiss on him, for how flirtatious he had just sounded. His cheeks flushed hot crimson, and he returned his eyes to Lupin's lap.

_Author's Note: I fully realize I could have said "to **the book on** Lupin's lap," but this made me giggle more, so I stetted it. Obviously._

Like divine providence, Lupin chose that moment to turn the page.

"Fuuuuck," he muttered, though smiling.

Sirius cackled, tossing his head back, his hair flopping over his shoulder. "I was waiting for this one."

The familiar three figures dotted the photograph: James, Lupin, and Sirius; but with remarkably altered appearances. They were standing at the front of the History of Magic classroom; Professor Binns's desk had been Transfigured into something of a makeshift stage, on which the three boys were standing loftily. James was dressed as what appeared to be a troll in a toga. Remus was decked out as a goblin, complete with bewitched bat-like ears and carrot-shaped nose. And Sirius, never to be outdone, was boasting bright red hair, 70s porn-star sunglasses, and shimmering blood-red nail polish – not to mention a word of the clothing, which matched brilliantly. While Lupin seemed to be giving some sort of speech, Sirius pinched his behind every few seconds.

Harry started laughing, unable to stop.

_Author's Note: I do apologize for all the intrusions, but it must be noted that this was inspired by Gary's role as Satan in "Beat the Devil" – photos can be found anywhere._

Professor Binns was watching them appraisingly, if somewhat reprovingly, but sat quietly at a desk, poised to take notes.

Harry, still laughing, managed to ask, "What – _what_??"

Sirius had curled up in a ball on the couch beside Lupin, still giggling like a schoolgirl.

"We had a project for our History of Magic final," Lupin explained logically, ever the rational one. "I don't quite remember what it was, but we had to present dressed as a historical figure... clearly of our own choosing."

"What were _you_?" Harry asked Sirius.

Sirius, however, was still too busy laughing.

"Reginald Rockfort," Lupin answered. Off Harry's empty look, he added, "Extremely eccentric nineteenth-century composer. Invented loads of spells for self-playing instruments. Total poof, of course."

Harry's jaw dropped, and he looked to Sirius for confirmation. Sirius raised his eyebrows and nodded his assent with a wicked smile.

They shared another laugh before Lupin flipped the page.

Sirius took one look at the new picture, muttered "Oh, Christ," and buried his face in a couch cushion.

Lupin began chuckling, and Harry followed suit, even though he wasn't yet sure what he was laughing at; anything that drove Sirius to bury his head in a cushion had to be good.

"Ah..." Lupin beamed fondly, if a bit triumphantly. "Annual Gryffindor seventh-year truth-or-dare night!"

The couch cushion groaned.

Harry grinned, studying the picture. He spotted Lily, sitting on the floor with a dozen other Gryffindors, her hand over her mouth, eyes wide in shock. Sirius was seated beside her, dressed in nothing but what appeared to be a house-elf's pillowcase, eyes focused on the same spot as Lily's, looking nearly as shell-shocked, though far less amused. Harry followed their eyes until he spotted the source of commotion.

There in the center of the room was his dad, liplocked with – Harry's breath caught as he recognized – none other than Moony himself.

Harry let out a surprised snort of laughter. "Oh my God."

"I remember like it was yesterday," Lupin smiled.

"You _would_, you dirty bitch," the cushion commented muffledly.

Lupin glanced mischievously at the pillow. "You're just jealous."

Sirius's head emerged, looking less than amused. "Excuse me?"

Lupin smiled at the photo and shrugged. "James was a great kisser."

Harry began to wonder if that particular talent of his dad's, like so many others, had been passed on to him as well – but before he formed a coherent thought on the matter, Sirius had suddenly thumped the cushion curtly back on the couch.

"Piss off, Remus," he muttered before getting to his feet and stalking out of the room.

Lupin kept his eyes lowered, but he was no longer looking at the photograph.

Harry's eyes darted from the spot Sirius had been before he disappeared from the room back to Lupin, evidently questioning.

Lupin forced a smile at Harry. "It's nothing."

Harry said nothing, but didn't believe him.

"Want to keep looking?" Lupin asked, his voice noticeably cheerier.

"I think I'd better get ready for bed," Harry said quickly. He added a quick smile, not wanting to be rude, and rose from the couch.

"Sleep well, Harry." Lupin's voice was soft again.

Harry gave him another halfhearted smile and headed toward the bottom of the stairs.

Harry had been lying on his back on his bed for half an hour, eyes wide open, sleep only a distant notion of comfort... when he heard it.

Sirius's bedroom was two rooms away; an oversized bathroom between them – but Harry could still make out the voices. Not the words, but at least the participants. A word here or there met his ear, which was now pressed against the wall. A pair of Extendable Ears was hidden in the hall closet, but Harry didn't dare risk it.

He listened closely. He caught his name once or twice, and all of his insides jumped. He thought he heard "James," but it could have been "Jamie," and it wasn't long before the voices died down completely.

Defeated, he sat back on his bed, but didn't dare think of sleep.

After what felt like hours, when the house finally fell quiet, he left his room, heading for the bathroom.

He stopped at the door, noticing that the one beside it – the one belonging to Sirius – was ajar, if only a few inches, and the light was still on.

It was too quiet. Something didn't feel right.

He gingerly pushed open the door, and froze.

Remus Lupin replaced the aged photo album in a desk, and climbed the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.

He hadn't done it on purpose. If there was anything one learned after being in Sirius Black's life for a quarter of a century, it was that deliberately getting him riled up is about as wise as inviting a werewolf over for tea at a full moon. It had been so long, though; Lupin never could have imagined the same chaotic drama that plagued them as schoolboys could have carried so many years into the future.

Clearly, he had been wrong.

He stopped by Sirius's door on the way to his own room. A line of light emerged from the bottom of the door. It was shut, though as he tentatively turned the handle, not locked.

Sirius was reclined on his bed, arms crossed behind his head. Never one to recoil from confrontation, he met Lupin's eyes and kept them there.

Lupin, however, looked at the ground. "I'm sorry. I just... wasn't thinking."

Sirius roughly swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and looked away. "It's fine."

Lupin strode across the room and sat down at the foot of the bed. "You going to tell me what's going on?"

"I'm in love."

Lupin smiled to himself, thinking how rich he would be if he had a nickel for every time he'd heard Sirius utter those words in school any time an attractive new boy – or girl – entered their class. It never meant anything; he knew Sirius's heart belonged to James; and, later, to Lupin himself. At least in part.

But that was so long ago.

"That," Lupin said warmly, "does not come as a big surprise to me."

"With Harry."

His head whipped around. Sirius was watching him boldly, unblinking – almost daring him to speak.

Lupin swallowed. "...That does."

Sirius did not avert his eyes, but sat up on the bed. "Go on. Say it."

"Sirius..."

"Say it."

Lupin sighed, rising and beginning to pace the floor. "You know what this is."

"I'm sure you'll tell me."

"He's the _spitting image_ of James, Sirius! His voice – even the way he walks. His smile, his laugh. It's all James."

"So glad to see you have eyes, Moony."

"Sirius, he's _sixteen_!"

"So was Jamie, when we – "

"_EXACTLY!_"

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "That is not what I meant."

"He's _Jamie's son_."

"_Exactly_," Sirius echoed in a hiss, leaping from the bed. "He's _not Jamie_."

"Sirius, you can't deny it! You're projecting – "

"I'm projecting nothing! I know what it looks like but it's _not_, Remus, it's _NOT_."

Lupin opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He did this twice more, before giving up, looking Sirius straight in the eye.

"How does he feel about you?"

Sirius gave a bitter chuckle, slumping back down on the bed. "He kissed me."

"_WHAT?!_"

"Oh, keep your pants on. He was drunk. Moment of adolescent stupidity. He regretted it in a heartbeat."

"...He said so?"

"Might as well have."

Lupin sat on the bed again, the same bed they had shared countless nights, and looked up at the man who'd once slept beside him. A pang of regret hit him then – regret and anger, at Peter, for James and Lily; at Azkaban, for stealing what could have been twelve more beautiful years, destroying everything they had built. How stupid for them to have thought they could pick up where they left off. How incredibly stupid indeed.

Still, looking at Sirius now, hair spilling over broad, strong shoulders; those piercing eyes watching him... Lupin wished so desperately that things had worked out differently.

He looked at the floor. "I'm sorry, love," he said, and meant it.

Though Sirius's eyes still glistened with the threat of tears, he smiled. "We haven't called each other that in years."

"We haven't had cause to."

"I've missed it."

_So have I_, Lupin forced himself to keep from saying. _You have no idea how much._

He looked up, suddenly finding the hand he had rested on the bed was clasped in one of Sirius's – and Sirius was fixing him with a look he hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime. But it wouldn't matter if had been a hundred lifetimes; there was no mistaking its meaning.

Everything below his waist jumped.

He smiled weakly, shaking his head. "Sirius."

Sirius grinned. "Shut up, Moony."

Lupin couldn't help but grin back. "You're mad."

"And you're not?"

"Pedophile."

"Werewolf."

"Oh, blow me."

"Whip it out, love."

That was all it took. Lupin closed the space between them and instantly their mouths were attacking one another. He knew he should stop it, knew it was wrong, but being only human, and worse, male, and, worse still, Sirius being his only true weakness... he had nothing but to give in. He knew it meant nothing – at least not to Sirius. It was nauseatingly familiar territory; he had been through it before. He had been the post-James comfort fuck for months until one night, lying tangled in bed together, Sirius had looked down at him, furrowed his brow as though trying to solve some difficult equation in Arithmancy, and said suddenly, matter-of-factly, as though the answer had just come to him, "_I love you, you know._"

But Lupin knew that would not be happening tonight.

He cast out his reservations, forced back the knowledge that this wasn't a rekindling of any sort, but a one-night stand of the strictest variety. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the intoxicating, still somehow adolescent taste of Sirius, tangling his hands in the gorgeous mess of black hair, pulling him closer, deepening their kiss, and let a soft moan escape into Sirius's mouth. Sirius smiled victoriously against his lips in response, snaking his hands around Lupin's waist and slowly up his back.

A creak in a floorboard snapped them both to rapt attention.

Harry was standing in the doorway.

If one's heart could literally have frozen, like ice, Harry was sure his did right then.

No one said anything. Sirius looked horrified. Lupin looked as though he'd just been caught wanking off by his parents. And Harry was sure he himself looked like a ghost.

The situation resembling something of the one in which he had found himself not long ago, the functional part of his brain decided the only course of action would be to stick with familiarity.

He vanished from the doorway, nearly breaking into a run as he started down the staircase.

"Harry," he heard a voice – Lupin's – call after him. "Harry!"

He didn't stop until he reached the sunroom, one hand on the door handle – and even then, he stopped only out of necessity: Lupin had seized his arm.

"Harry, wait."

Harry spun around, eyes flaming. He couldn't speak.

Lupin released his arm. "Harry – what you saw – "

"It doesn't matter," Harry spat. "Why should it? Why should it matter to me at all? It doesn't. It's nothing. It's fine."

He knew he was talking far too much, and that only meant one thing: that every word out of his mouth was a lie.

Lupin was not unaware of this fact. He was so aware, in fact, that recognition suddenly dawned on his face. Sirius had been wrong; dead wrong.

Harry _was_, he realized in disbelief, desperately and completely in love with his godfather.

"Harry," Lupin began quietly. "It was just a momentary – he was upset, and I – look, whatever there was between him and me, or him and James, for that matter – it's all in the past, Harry, it's not – "

"...What?"

Lupin paused. "What?"

Harry swallowed hard. "What... about Sirius and my father?"

Lupin went pale. _Bloody hell... oh, bloody fucking hell, he never told him, he never fucking told him._

Harry took a deep, ragged breath. "Tell me."

"Harry," Lupin whispered, eyes pleading, "I – I'm so sorry, I thought you knew... I thought for sure he would have told..."

"_What did you mean, him and my dad?_"

At that moment, Sirius appeared in the room behind Lupin, looking nearly as frozen as Harry had seen him upstairs.

It was all Harry could take. His hand still on the door handle, he cranked it open and tore out the back door.

Lupin didn't follow him.

But Sirius did.


	6. V

**V.**

_I want to breathe that fire again..._

_-------------------------------------_

Harry had quite a head start, and didn't bother to sit down in front of the lake as they had only days before. He set off on a path to the left, walked halfway around the lake before dropping himself down on a log at the shore.

He was panting, but not from exertion. He stared down into the water, the moonlight bathing his reflection below in a cool radiance.

The face looking up at him in the water looked nothing like how he imagined he looked in that moment. It looked young. Young, and angry. He wasn't angry. Was he? He had no right to be. He had no claim on Sirius. Sirius could kiss whomever he goddamn well pleased.

And, Harry noted sourly, he certainly did.

It wasn't until a splash of tears fell to the water, rippling his reflection into obscurity, that he realized he was crying.

When the water settled once more, a sharp breath caught in his chest: another reflection was glimmering beside his own.

Unable to move, he stared at Sirius's face in the water; it seemed impossible that those were the same eyes he had stared into only days before under the moonlight in the middle of this same water; the same mouth he had claimed for his own, if only for a moment... the same mouth that had given itself to someone else only minutes before.

When he felt the hand on his shoulder, he shrugged it off – perhaps more roughly than he had intended – but he refused to allow himself the smallest ounce of remorse.

"Harry."

"Tell me."

He felt Sirius draw in a nervous breath behind him, and he spun around on the log.

"Tell me," he repeated firmly.

Sirius looked helpless for the first time Harry could remember. "Harry..."

"That's why you let me kiss you, isn't it? You wanted it to be him?"

Sirius was plainly surprised by this. "What? Harry, no, you don't – _no – _"

"I'm NOT MY FATHER!" Harry bellowed suddenly, the rest of the words in his head dying at his lips, too muddled to be put together in any organized fashion.

"I know that," Sirius whispered. "I never kissed James."

"You were _fucking_ him!"

"Harry, you don't understand! – "

"No. No, I finally do understand." Harry had leapt up from the log. "I thought it was all in my head, you know – that you'd actually kissed me back, all the looks you gave me, every time you looked into my eyes and I thought I was going to lose myself in you – but it wasn't me you saw at all, you were thinking of _him_!"

"Harry, _NO _– "

"Yeah, well, guess what, Sirius? I'm _not_ him. I'm not James. I'm not _Jamie_. I never will be. I'll never be as – as cool, or as popular, or as smart – I'll never be enough. And I'll obviously never be what you want."

Sirius raised his voice for the first time Harry could remember, sweeping forward to close in on him, eyes desperate and flashing.

"How could you _possibly_ know what I want?"

"Then tell me!"

The words were scarcely out of his mouth before Sirius had sealed the last bit of space separating them and pressed their bodies together, not a sliver of moonlight left between them, catching Harry in a dizzy, frantic kiss. Harry responded instinctively, devouring the mouth being offered him, stumbling backwards and tripping over the log, but Sirius caught him, held him up, and then lifted him completely into his arms, backing him up against a tree until Harry felt the rough bark grate against his back through his t-shirt. Sirius's hand went automatically, protectively to the back of Harry's head, cradling it, then Harry's legs were around his waist, pulling them closer together, and the world began to melt away.

Mouths were everywhere, hands began to roam freely, groping at skin and pulling desperately at fabric, and as Sirius lifted one hand to Harry's face to brush away his hair, his fingers became suddenly wet.

Both sets of eyes shot open; Harry's were leaking tears. Sirius gently set him on the ground.

"Harry – "

But Harry only shook his head, over and over. "You're lying."

He broke into a run, and took off into the darkness.

It was much, much later when Harry reentered the house.

It had to have been some ungodly hour of the night, as the only sound he made out from room to room was the single ticking grandfather clock in the study.

He mounted the stairs, but couldn't bring himself to enter his room: the door to Sirius's was still open.

He crept forward, clasped one hand around the door, and pushed it open just enough to slip inside.

Sirius was sitting on his bed in the dark, back to the wall, knees hugged to his chest. A stray bit of moonlight was cast across one side of his face, and Harry could see he himself hadn't been the only one shedding tears.

He stood in front of the bed, not trusting what he might do if he got too close to the man seated upon it.

"Tell me. About you and my dad."

Sirius drew in what was a deep but clearly painful breath, and released it.

"I loved Jamie my whole life. He loved me too, I knew... just not the same way. We fooled around for years, but I don't think he ever realized how much more it meant to me than to him. It wasn't until after... your mum... that Remus and I... well."

"You told me you never kissed my dad."

"I didn't. That was Jamie's rule. No kissing. Fucking into oblivion, sure... but no kissing."

"Why?"

"Suspect he was afraid of feeling too much. Of falling in love with me. Couldn't bear to consider what everyone would think of him if he did. That was certainly one quality of his you should be glad you don't share – he cared what people thought, far too much."

He paused. Flashes of memories struck him, unbidden.

"And then he met your mum. The night he told me they were engaged was the last night we ever... well. It was the only time I've ever seen him cry."

Harry's eyes were cast to the floor. Sirius took notice at once, clearly aware of what he must be thinking.

"Harry... no, it's not like – listen, he loved your mum. So much. They were very happy together."

Harry nodded once, not looking up.

"You've got to believe me. They were right for each other. They died loving each other, and you."

"That's not it," Harry breathed.

"Then... what?"

His eyes lifted to meet Sirius's, and the question that had been haunting him for as long as he could remember finally forced its way from his lips in a rush: "Do you see him when you look at me?"

Sirius blinked, glancing down momentarily but bravely recapturing Harry's gaze. "Yes. And no."

Harry waited.

"I can't deny the resemblance... no one can. When I first met you it took my breath away. It was like no time had passed, like I was back at Hogwarts... I felt things for you I never should've. But... Harry... that's long since changed. I don't love you because I loved your father. I love you... because I love you. _You_. Harry. Not James."

Harry smiled softly. A protracted, deafening pause hung in the air. He looked at his shoes.

"Not just saying all that to get in my pants, are you?"

They both let off a short, stifled laugh.

"God; if I were, Remus would murder me in my sleep."

Harry smiled.

"Why didn't you ever tell me any of this?" he asked softly.

Sirius sighed, not in irritation, but as though he knew the question had been coming, and was afraid to answer it.

"I... don't know," he said at last. "I was afraid you'd be bothered by it... that you'd think I was projecting what I felt for your father onto you, and you'd be positively revolted by the thought of your godfather perving after you."

"Well that was stupid of you, wasn't it?" Harry smiled shyly.

Sirius smiled back, extending a hand toward Harry. "Come here."

His heart pounding, he took a step forward, and another, his hand finally closing around the one being offered to him, and sat down on the bed beside his godfather.

"Harry... what you said before – that you would never be enough for me..."

Harry dropped his head, but Sirius lifted his chin with a finger, forcing Harry's eyes back on his own.

"Oh, my sweet love. If you only knew."

Harry blinked. "Tell me."

"Harry..." he began somewhat nervously, "you are _so, so much more_ than enough. You are _everything I want_," he breathed, tracing a hand over Harry's eyes, lips, neck... Harry unwittingly bent his face toward the touch, breathing the warm skin into his senses. He could almost feel his insides melting into a puddle.

Sirius squeezed his hand, staring into his eyes, and whispered, "Now tell me what _you_ want."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, willing his fear to be swallowed right along with it.

"You," he breathed. "It's always been you, Sirius."

Harry would never have been able to tell you who moved first, but it was of no consequence now. Their lips met; their doubts melted. Their mouths danced languidly for several moments, converging, then separating, and meeting again, stronger, more forcefully, assuredly, each time. The hand clasped in his wriggled free and slid up his thigh, coming to rest at his hip, and he felt a thumb slip under his shirt to caress the skin just above the top of his trousers. Even the scarce bit of contact sent his head reeling, and he momentarily wondered if he'd be able to handle any more without passing out.

But he dove into it all headfirst, sliding his tongue toward the lips in front of him, a silent plea for admittance, and Sirius surrendered without a moment's hesitation. Harry sensed Sirius had been moving deliberately slowly, letting Harry set the pace, unwilling to pressure him into anything too quickly. But the instant their tongues touched, all lingering diffidence evaporated, and somehow Sirius came to realize moving slowly was the last thing on Harry's mind, and they had moved slow enough as it was: if anything, they needed to make up for lost time.

Before Harry had even realized what was happening, he found himself flat on his back across the bed, head swimming dizzily with the warm weight atop him, and Sirius dropping kisses everywhere, gasping as Harry's nails dug into his back before grappling at his shirt to remove it. One article of clothing followed another, soaring in wide arcs across the room before coming to land on various items of furniture.

When nothing remained between them but burning skin, they somehow found it in themselves to stop.

Breath ragged, sharp, and quick; lips swollen and parted, Harry stared at Sirius, who had pulled away just enough to look at him.

Sirius traced a hand over Harry's face, eyes, lips, worshipping every inch. He lingered over his scar, delicately tracing the zig-zag of lightning – the one part of him, Harry did not fail to notice, that distinguished him categorically from his father. Sirius gently pressed his lips to it.

"So... unbelievably... gorgeous..." he whispered.

Harry felt himself blush. He slid a hand up Sirius's arm, rounding over his shoulder and tracing a tattoo or a scar - he couldn't tell which in the darkness - before coming to rest just over his heart. He felt it pounding.

"Not so bad yourself, you know," he smiled.

Sirius gave him a smile he had never seen before, wicked, seductive, dripping with furious desire, and everything below Harry's waist jumped.

The smile vanished just as quickly.

"Are you sure about this – " Sirius began, silenced by Harry's fingers pressed to his lips.

Harry took a moment to catch his breath. To slow his heartbeat. He was in no rush to say it: he wanted every syllable to emerge as lucidly as he felt it.

"I love you."

Sirius closed his eyes, a smile playing at his lips, and gently kissed the trembling fingers over his mouth, one by one.

He opened his eyes. "I love you too, Harry."

As he reclaimed Harry's mouth, breaking only to cast _Silencio_ over the room, words became quickly obsolete.


	7. VI

**VI.**

_The teenage queen, the loaded gun_

_The drop dead dream, the Chosen One..._

_------------------------------------------------_

"Mmmm," Harry mumbled several hours later.

"Indeed."

He shifted in the bed until his head was nestled into Sirius's neck, and he snaked an arm across his chest. Sirius planted a kiss on his forehead and pulled him closer.

Harry suddenly, oddly, found himself compelled to say so many utterly ridiculous things. Things like, _That was amazing_, or _You taste incredible_, or, he cringed at the thought, _You're a god, you know that?_

Instead, he propped himself up on his elbow and stared down at the piercing blue eyes that were still threatening to melt him into a puddle.

Sirius blinked, as though unsure if what he was seeing was real, as Harry reached down to stroke his face.

Harry smiled. "God, you're beautiful."

Sirius smirked. "Someone clearly needs to put his glasses back on."

"Oh, I'll tell you what I need..." Harry grinned, leaned in, and whispered something in Sirius's ear. He felt the man shiver beneath him.

Sirius shot him a devil of a grin. "And here I always thought you'd be a bit of a shy little prude."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "...Always thought?"

Sirius looked like he'd just been caught raiding a candy jar.

"You've thought about me? About this?" Harry prodded, feeling himself getting hard again just at the thought.

"Er, well."

"Tell me!"

"Oh, Christ, Harry. Every night."

Harry's jaw dropped. "For how long?"

"Too long," Sirius answered quickly, guiltily, but with finality, as though this was as much of an answer as he was willing to give.

Harry grinned, wickedly intrigued. "HOW LONG??"

Sirius sighed, shaking his head in defeat. He met Harry's eyes briefly enough to say "The day I met you?" before burying his head into Harry's shoulder as though dodging invisible spells that were about to strike him dead.

Harry gasped. "Sirius!"

"I know I know I know," came the wincing, muffled voice.

"I was _thirteen_!" Harry scolded in mock indignation, but couldn't stop smiling.

"I bloody well know that, you little wanker." Sirius's hand reached out to pinch Harry's nipple. "I felt like a house elf, like I had to punish myself every time I thought of it."

There was a pause. Harry ruffled the hair of the head pressed against him.

"You dirty perv, you."

Sirius's head shot up. "Right, then, what about you?"

It was Harry's turn to look sheepish. "Well, I... suppose I was too young to realize quite what I was feeling, but... yeah, about the same time..."

"HA!" Sirius barked victoriously, flipping Harry over and pinning his wrists over his head.

It was all it took to have Harry's breath quicken again, for him to raise his hips, part his lips desperately, begging...

"Mmm," Sirius licked his lips. "Want something, do you?"

Harry nodded, unable to form words.

"Even though I'm a dirty perv?"

Harry smiled. "_Especially_ because you're a dirty perv."

"Won't say no to that," Sirius winked at him, nibbling on his ear.

Harry's eyes fluttered shut. "I love you..." he breathed, still high on the knowledge that he could say it freely, and that it was the easiest thing in the world.

"I know." He felt Sirius smile against his skin. "And I love you. So very, very much."

This train of thought was drowned from Harry's mind as Sirius began trailing his lips down Harry's body, lower, and lower...

It wasn't a second later before voices began stirring in the hallway.

They both froze, wondering if they had even bothered to lock the door.

A knock rapped on said door: three rapid, sharp beats. Harry kept silent, remembering it wasn't his room and he had no legitimate reason to be in it, let alone awake, at such an hour.

Sirius sat up. "Who is it?"

"It's me," came Lupin's voice. "Hurry up."

Sirius quickly slipped into a stray pair of jeans as Harry pulled a sheet over himself.

The door was opened, and light from the hallway spilled in blindingly.

"What – " Sirius began.

"They've got the kids," Lupin said in a low, eerily calm voice.

"What?"

"Bellatrix. Lucius. The others. They've got Ron, Ginny, and Hermione."

"But – how – "

"I don't know."

"It's got to be a trap."

"Probably. But we've got to go."

"I know, but what – "

"Just get dressed. Moody and Snape are downstairs; Tonks and Shaklebolt are on their way. We're alerting the rest." For the first time, Lupin took notice of Harry in the bed, who was now sitting bolt upright and looking pallid as flour. Lupin did not look remotely surprised to see him there. "You're staying here," he announced.

"Like hell I am," Harry snapped.

"Voldemort's not in this himself, Harry. It's just the lot of them, they're just trying to – "

"I don't care!"

Lupin turned back to Sirius, obviously having no time to waste arguing. "He's staying."

To Harry's surprise and indignation, Sirius nodded, and Lupin took off down the hall.

"What – " Harry began.

Sirius closed the door and looked briefly at Harry before rummaging around for clothes. "You're staying."

"I am _not_! They're my friends!"

"And if you want them back as your friends for the next fifty years or so, you'll leave this to us."

Harry's eyes flashed. "Are you saying I can't handle it?"

"I'm saying I'm not putting you in harm's way!" Sirius snapped, far louder than was necessary.

Harry bolted out of bed. "And I'm not losing you again!"

They both froze at this. Memories, horrors, of the veil flooded the tense air between them. Sirius put down the shirt in his hands and pulled Harry to him so tightly neither could tell whose skin was whose. Harry held onto him as fiercely as though he were about to Disapparate any moment.

"You won't," Sirius whispered into the boy's hair.

Tears were already streaming down Harry's face when they pulled away. Sirius led him backward to the bed, sitting Harry down on the edge of it, and crouched down in front of him, their hands clasped together in Harry's lap.

Harry had a sudden, brief, vivid flashback to a night three years ago, when they had found themselves in much the same position – literally, and figuratively.

_The ones who love us never really leave us..._

"Harry..."

Harry choked away a sob. "Don't go."

Sirius looked as though he wanted to say something – many things, in fact. But he merely dropped his head into Harry's lap and snaked his arms around his waist. Harry's fingers weaved through Sirius's hair, cradling his head as though it might break.

"Don't go," he repeated, barely a rasp of a whisper.

Sirius lifted his head, bringing his lips to Harry's for a slow, deep, desperate kiss. Their tongues claimed one another for the thousandth time that night, until Sirius broke their contact.

"I'll come home to you."

Harry shook his head warningly.

"You'd fucking better."

Sirius kissed him again. "Wait here. I'll come back up before we leave."

He finished pulling on his shirt and disappeared into the hallway. Harry could hear his footsteps heading down the staircase, and the lowest, quietest voices coming from the kitchen. Even though he would never have been able to understand a word of what they were saying, the noise their voices were making held a chilling sense of panic.

And out of nowhere, a searing pain shot through the lightning bolt on his forehead.

Sirius appeared in the kitchen, bearing distinctive fuck-hair, and looked around. Lupin and Snape were frozen to respective spots on the floor, and looked at him as he came in.

"Where's everyone?" Sirius asked.

"Arthur and Molly are trying to contact Dumbledore," Lupin said flatly, the fear in his voice evident but in check. "Everyone else is on their way here, or headed there to scope things out. There – there is one other thing."

Lupin looked to Snape, who hadn't taken his narrowed, appraising eyes off Sirius since he entered the room. Snape, however, seemed to be above the task of exposition.

"Go back upstairs," Lupin said simply. "Get a strand of his hair."

Sirius blinked. "What?"

"Or any part of him, really," Snape interjected, smirking, as his black eyes absorbed Sirius's obvious state of post-sex disarray. "I'm sure you have plenty to choose from."

Sirius glared at him.

"Make it look incidental," Lupin went on, unfazed. "Keep it light. _Do not_ let him know what you're doing."

"What _am _I doing??"

Lupin sighed heavily. "Sirius, they've asked us to send only Harry. They said if we send anyone else, they'll kill the kids."

Sirius felt his insides turn cold, as though a swarm of Dementors had just swept into the room. "He's not going."

"Of _course_ he's not," Snape said exasperatedly, holding up a small glass bottle of thick, disgusting, murky-looking liquid.

"Polyjuice," Sirius recognized in a whisper.

"A member of the Order will transform into him and go in; the rest of us will remain unseen, and only go in if necessary," Lupin explained calmly. "Several have already volunteered to take the potion, Severus and myself included."

"I'll do it," Sirius said without hesitation.

Lupin's eyes flashed panic. "No you won't."

"Moony, I spent twelve years in prison with Bella. I know her ways. I know her weaknesses. I've twice as much chance as anyone else."

Lupin crossed the room, clutching Sirius's arm. "I can't – _Harry_ – can't lose you."

Sirius squeezed his hand. "I'll be fine. Promise."

Snape rolled his eyes. "_No_. We need Sirius – as himself. If the rest of us have to go in, they'll know something's amiss if Harry's precious godfather, the one he _lives _for, the one who would die to save him, isn't bloody there!"

The three of them exchanged looks. Neither Lupin nor Sirius wanted to admit Snape was right.

"I've got to go as Harry," Sirius stated defiantly. "No one else stands a chance."

Again, there was silence.

"Fine," Lupin said at last, gathering a deep breath. "Right then." He reached up to Sirius's head, plucked a hair from the wild mess, and stuffed it in his pocket.

Sirius grabbed Lupin's arm. "What do you think you're doing?"

"My job."

"NO."

"Let it go, Sirius."

"Remus, don't you understand?" he pleaded desperately. "He's right – they know how much I mean to Harry. I'm his weakness and he's mine; he'd be more vulnerable without me. After Harry, I'm the first one they'll go for. I'm not letting you do it."

Lupin shook his head. "Who else – "

"_Anyone_ else, Moony! Not you."

"Who else," Lupin repeated softly, "would be believable as you?"

Sirius fell silent. He had no argument against it.

Lupin dropped his eyes. "No one knows you like I do."

The room was dead silent again, as the sudden gravity of the situation began to sink into them both.

"I do _hate_ to interrupt this touching moment," Snape drawled, "but if we could damn well get on with it that would be _fantastic_. Moody's waiting outside with his Invisibility Cloaks and the others should be here any moment. I think I'll go join him before you two start snogging all over the place as though you never left school."

He swept from the room, robes billowing behind him. Suddenly everything felt twice as silent – if that were even possible.

Lupin looked at the clock: 3:12a.m. At the dishes on the stove. At the floor. Anywhere but Sirius. "Go upstairs," he finally ordered. "Hurry up. And don't tell him a god damned thing."

Sirius grabbed his arm tightly, until Lupin met his eyes.

"You don't have to do this," he whispered.

Lupin smiled. "Yes, I do. I love you. And you love Harry. You need to be together."

"If you die, I'll fucking kill you."

Lupin managed to chuckle weakly. "Go upstairs."

Sirius ignored him, pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, and planted a kiss in his hair. "I love you too."

As Sirius climbed the stairs, each step felt like a step closer to his own execution. This had all seemed so much easier until he realized it was actually happening.

Harry was waiting for him on the bed; though he had pulled on his pants and sat huddled against a mass of pillows, he was still shivering. He leapt up the moment Sirius walked in and threw himself into the man's arms.

Sirius hugged him back, but his mind was elsewhere as he tangled his hands in the boy's hair, trying to find a single strand to separate from the rest. But just as quickly, Harry had pulled away.

He looked anxiously at Sirius's face. "You're crying."

"Am I?" Sirius tried to smile, blinking back the rest of the tears. "Listen to me. I've got to go now. It'll be fine, you understand?"

Harry shook his head, tears streaming down his face.

"Yes," Sirius said firmly, more to convince himself than Harry. "It'll be fine."

They stared at one another for a moment. Sirius's heart was pounding. He was sure he would mess it up somehow; Harry would find out what he was up to, and when he did, he wouldn't stay here, no matter what Sirius told him to do. He knew he couldn't stall any longer.

"All right," he said softly. "I've got to go, love."

It worked; Harry's mouth lunged forward to meet his godfather's, completely caught up in the sensation of tongue against tongue; Sirius lifted him into his arms and carried him to the bed, never breaking their kiss. As he lay him gently down on the bedcovers and lowered himself on top of Harry, mouths still locked, he quickly reached up to Harry's head, plucked the first stray hair his fingers touched, and shoved it hastily in his pocket.

Harry, clearly lost in sensation, didn't react in the slightest.

Sirius broke their kiss, a wave of sick relief flooding him, and looked down at the beautiful, tear-stained face beneath him.

"Stay here," he whispered in his ear, and crawled off the bed.

Harry, to his surprise, jumped up as well. "You can't make me."

Sirius, having clearly not been prepared for this sudden change of course, stared at him.

"Don't do this, Harry."

"I don't want you to go without me. You can't force me to stay."

Hating himself even as he did it, but seeing no other option, he whipped out his wand and held it at arm's length, pointing it directly at Harry.

"Yes I can," he whispered. "Don't make me."

Harry looked thoroughly betrayed, but stepped back in resignation.

Sirius slowly replaced his wand. "I love you."

"I love you," Harry whispered.

Without looking back, Sirius left the room. He darted quickly and furtively into Harry's bedroom, snatching his wand – in case the lot would recognize the lack of it – as well as Harry's spare pair of glasses, and hurried downstairs to join the others.

Harry forced himself to lie back down in the bed. The sheets smelled of sex and Sirius's cologne. He buried his face in it, wishing desperately that time could have frozen somewhere in the past several hours. If he closed his eyes tightly enough, he could still feel Sirius's hands... strong, gentle, but assured... sliding over his skin... then his mouth, following the same path, before settling between Harry's legs, his hands sliding underneath Harry's back to pull him closer...

Harry touched his face. It was wet. He couldn't make himself stop crying.

He yearned to sleep, just to escape, but all his mind would allow was to entertain every possible horrible scenario he could imagine, most of which ended up with Sirius dead. He couldn't shake the images from his mind; he couldn't stop listening to the awful voices in his head that kept telling him this could only end badly.

Every so often a sharp pain shot through his scar, but it was nothing compared to the sick feeling in his stomach.

Sirius was out there, somewhere, God knows where, in the midst of a handful of the most ruthless Death Eaters. Flashbacks to June accosted his mind, and his breath quickened: if he lost Sirius again, he knew this time there would be no getting him back.

The thought made him bolt out of bed. He found himself in a cold sweat, and he couldn't seem to breathe properly.

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong, and he had to get there.

But _how_? Where were they? How would he get there even if he knew?

A muffled squawking noise from the floor above the bedroom snapped his mind to sudden attention.

_Hippogriffs're like bloodhounds, see... they know how ter tell where some'un is, jus' by their smell – even if tha' person's thousands o' miles away._

A strange, unrelated thought entered his brain: had he actually paid that much attention in class, even just the once?

Harry grabbed the t-shirt Sirius had been wearing earlier and tore out of the bedroom, up the next flight of stairs, storming into Buckbeak's room. Buckbeak let out a squawk of surprise and indignation upon being disturbed, but his sharp, gleaming eyes softened when he saw Harry.

Harry ran up to him, holding the shirt under his beak. "Buckbeak – can you smell that?"

Buckbeak nudged the shirt with his beak, blinking once.

"Can you take me to him? Take me to Sirius?" Harry begged desperately.

Buckbeak blinked again. Harry began to feel ridiculous, not even sure if he would be understood.

But after a moment, Buckbeak rose to his feet and tapped his beak against the massive wall-length window in front of him.

Harry reached for his wand, only to realize he didn't have it. "Wait here!" he ordered, leaping back down the stairs three at a time. He reached his bedroom and burst inside, heading straight for the table where he knew he had left his wand.

It was gone.

For the next ten minutes he tore up the room, searching high and low and even tried _Accio_ing it wandlessly, but it was to no avail. It was fucking gone, and he had no hope. Yanking open the drawers of his bureau one last time, he felt around beneath his clothes, for anything, anything at all, any sign of it –

– when his hands struck something wooden, just longer than a shoebox.

He pulled out the box containing his father's wand and lifted the lid. It was there, intact, just as he'd left it.

He snatched it from the box and started back up the stairs.

Upon entering Buckbeak's room, he pointed the wand somewhat nervously at the window, and yelled, "_Impero evanesco_!"

He was still so unused to the strange, unfamiliar feeling of the wand's powers that he almost failed to notice the glass had vanished.

Dawn was just beginning to creep into the sky by the time Buckbeak began to swoop lower. As they broke through the clouds, Harry saw nothing but dark, gray, empty landscape below. A few bleak-looking houses dotted the scenery here and there, but in isolation. Harry was so disturbed by the entire premise that he scarcely noticed when Buckbeak began soaring downward into the area of one such house.

One such house, he began to notice... that looked eerily familiar.

He sent Buckbeak back into the woods to wait, and stepped into the clearing before the house. He felt his blood freeze as the nauseatingly familiar tombstones rose up into view amidst the early morning fog.

The grave of Tom Riddle's father.

_Harry was back_. Back... _here_.

Chills stormed through his body as he stepped closer, recognizing the old, shabby house out of which he had seen Wormtail emerge, carrying the bundle that would soon transform into Harry's worst nightmare. He spotted the patch of ground where Cedric had fallen in a blaze of green flash; the clearing where his wand had connected with Voldemort's, where he had seen his parents...

His stomach lurched, and pain shot through his forehead.

Something now, however, was even more wrong than before: there was no one here.

With James's wand at the ready, he inched forward, closer to the house. It was still fairly dark, and he couldn't see very far. He tripped over something on the ground, and jumped back.

As his eyes took in the sight before him, he nearly lost his balance and felt his heartbeat soar to dizzying speeds.

It was Tonks. Dead.

As he tried to breathe, he felt the oxygen invade his lungs uncomfortably. The air still smelled of dark magic, and the sight before him seemed to heighten his senses immeasurably.

"No..." he choked. "_No..._"

He stumbled backward, desperate for a wall to stop him, to give him support. He felt himself sinking to his knees.

_No... not Tonks... not her... NOT ONE OF US..._

Two words filled every last inch of space in his head: Who else?

He didn't have time to think for long; two figures were emerging from the house in some kind of chase, one of them walking backward, wand raised. Even in the semi-darkness, he recognized them at once. It was deja vu of the most sickening sort: a rail-thin, sharp-faced woman with huge sunken eyes and a wild frizz of hair stood some twenty feet away from the second figure – equally wild hair, wand raised, unmistakable.

Sirius.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_"

Harry pointed his trembling wand at the woman's back; the words left his mouth before he had realized it, at the exact same moment they left the lips of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Sirius's shadowed figure fell first, followed shortly by hers.

It all seemed to Harry to be happening in slow motion. The killing curse felt as though it had left his mouth years before, and nothing he was seeing now was real. It was as though he were outside his own body, and saw himself run forward to Sirius, collapsing down on top of him, screaming and crying and shaking him, begging him to be alive. He ignored the dull, lifeless eyes, the lack of a heartbeat. He ignored the fact that the man under him wasn't moving. Wasn't going to move. Heard nothing of his cries.

Unable to handle the sensations overwhelming him for more than a few seconds, it wasn't long before he looked down at the wand still clutched tightly in his trembling hand. Without an ounce of rational thought, he slowly and with no small amount of difficulty for all his trembling, turned the wand around until the tip was pointing at his chest.

He tried desperately to force himself to choke back the sobs that were shaking his entire body, just for the benefit of maintaining a steady hand. For a brief moment, he managed to control his aim, holding the wand in place, and opened his mouth.

"_Avada..._"

"_Expelliarmus!!!_"

Harry felt the wand jerk from his hand, and his head shot up to the source of the noise.

The most bewildering, fantastic, horrible image met his eyes: Sirius, walking toward him from across the grounds.

Harry immediately scrambled on the ground again for his wand, and, finding it, aimed it at the other, much more alive Sirius, who was now towering over him - but he could find no words, and merely sat there, trembling and staring with his wand raised pointlessly.

"What – _what_..." he found himself saying, shocked that he still remembered what words were and how to use them.

The Sirius standing over him was no longer looking at him, but at the figure Harry was still bent over protectively. This Sirius froze, going almost as pale as the one on the ground. His mouth dropped, his eyes went wide in horror, and he stumbled backward as though what was before him couldn't possibly be real. He dropped to his knees; his head dropped backward, face contorted in agony.

"_NO!!!!!!!!!_"

Harry had absolutely no idea what to make of this; no idea what was going on, whatsoever. He didn't know if either of these figures was real, or which one was real, or whether or not to trust either one.

"WHAT?!" he finally shouted, exasperated. "What is this??"

The live Sirius mustered enough consciousness to point his wand at the lifeless figure beside Harry and mutter, "_Finite incantatem_."

The Sirius on the ground beside Harry vanished, transforming instantly into the form of Remus Lupin.

Another strangled sob escaped Sirius's mouth at the sight; Harry felt something tighten in his throat as his eyes scanned over Lupin's body for some kind of explanation. He fell back in shock, stumbling over Sirius, and came to rest in the arms of the man still crying, screaming in anguish at no one in particular, as the lifeless body lay before them.

Harry felt his own hot tears streaming down his cheeks. He buried his head into Sirius's chest, and the two held onto one another as if they were the last two people left on earth.


	8. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

_This could be the end of everything_

_so why don't we go_

_somewhere only we know..._

– Keane; "Somewhere Only We Know"

---------------------------------------------

"Dumbledore got there just after we did. Managed to get the kids out once I was distracting the others. After my dose of Polyjuice wore off, well..." Sirius's voice lowered, and his eyes dropped. "All hell kind of just broke loose. No one in the Order knew where I was, and Remus, er..." His voice caught in his throat. "He made everyone leave; told them he'd stay behind to watch out for me."

"I'm sorry," Harry said softly. "I shouldn't have asked. This isn't the time."

"It's okay," Sirius tried to sound convincing. "It helps... to talk about it. I think. And it's good for me to know it was real."

Harry finished buttoning his shirt and sat down on the bed beside Sirius, who was still only half-dressed, not particularly looking forward to attending the dual memorial ceremony for Lupin and Tonks that would be taking place outside in front of the lake.

"Come here," Harry whispered. Sirius leaned forward automatically, mind still elsewhere, and Harry reached up, taking the two loose ends of the tie around Sirius's neck, and began folding them into a proper knot.

Sirius finally looked up, watching Harry's eyes as he worked.

"You saved my life," he said somewhat unnecessarily.

Harry met his eyes. "You saved mine."

"I don't just mean literally."

Harry smiled. "Neither do I."

Sirius dropped his head into Harry's lap, and Harry began to stroke his hair.

"I miss him," Sirius said.

"I know. So do I."

Harry felt a lump forming in his throat again, but knew no tears were left in him. He and Sirius had spent the greater part of the past week lying in bed, motionless, holding one another and shedding silent tears.

They sat there for several minutes in silence. Eventually, Sirius lifted his head, kissed Harry gently, and rose from the bed. He pulled on his shoes and the mourning robes, and they headed downstairs together, hand in hand.

Harry felt detached, distracted, from the ceremony. The early August weather was hot and muggy, and the sounds of summer insects were giving him a headache. He didn't want to sit there with all those people he didn't know, and especially not with the people he did know. He didn't want to listen to Dumbledore tell us how amazing these people were, how valued their lives were, and how heroically they left us, and how warmly they would be remembered. It didn't bring them back. Nothing would. And most of all, he didn't want to see that look on Sirius's face anymore, that look of pain and grief and helplessness, like a lost puppy.

When it was over, Harry took Sirius's hand and managed to lead both of them in an escape from the crowd. They started off slowly ambling down the path around the lake, pausing for no particular reason when they reached the fallen log they had shared only a handful of evenings ago. It felt like a lifetime since.

Sirius shoved off his outer robes, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned the first three buttons of his shirt. Harry followed suit, and as they sat down, he leaned his head on his godfather's shoulder. Sirius snaked his arms around the boy's waist.

Harry looked out at the water, thinking it looked very unfamiliar, as he had never seen it before in daylight. Then again, nearly everything felt unfamiliar lately. The way he would walk downstairs in the morning expecting to see Lupin's kind, gentle smile greeting him from behind the Daily Prophet – and instead find the kitchen empty.

"I can't believe he's gone," he whispered.

He felt Sirius's body tense, and lifted his head. A single tear was creeping down his cheek. Harry kissed it away.

"I met Moony on platform nine and three quarters when we were eleven," Sirius said suddenly. "I thought he had the loveliest, sweetest face I'd ever seen, and I asked him if I could share his compartment on the train. I spent the entire trip trying to impress him, pretending I knew ridiculous spells and so on. Was mortified when he _actually knew _the spells himself. I think I fell in love with him when he Transfigured my hand into a sheet of parchment and wrote on it, "You have very nice eyes, Sirius Black."

Harry smiled.

"Tried to snog him in the corridors, third year. He just laughed at me and said, 'Who are you kidding? I know you're in love with Jamie Potter.'"

Harry laughed. "He always managed to see through anything."

"Yeah, it was nuts."

"So what did you say?"

"I told him James liked girls and if he knew what was good for him he'd shut up and kiss me back. So he did."

Harry smiled. "When did you... I mean, why did you stop?"

"Well, I never stopped loving him. But we started hanging out more with James, and... well, James was the most gorgeous boy in the whole school, and had more charm than Flitwick's entire classroom. I couldn't have resisted even if I wanted to."

Harry grinned, smacking Sirius's arm. "You were such a whore."

Sirius winked and shot him a seductive grin. "Got a problem with that, have you?"

Harry responded by silencing him with a slow, deep kiss. Suddenly the air was no longer hot and muggy, but soft and mild; the insects weren't ringing in his ears like sirens, but singing to him – and Harry thought, in that moment, that if all he spent the rest of his life doing was kissing Sirius Black, life was worth every heartache, every pain, every grief in the world.

When they broke apart, both men stared back out at the lake, lost in the silence of the moment.

"What else?" Harry prodded. He loved the reminiscing; loved what it did to Sirius: it made him smile, which he hadn't done in days.

"Well... he was my first."

"Lucky him."

Sirius smiled. "God, we were so young, it's insane."

"How young?"

"Thirteen."

Harry laughed. "You have a thing for thirteen-year-olds."

Sirius pinched him affectionately. "Yes, love, but remember I was _also_ thirteen at the time."

"Still."

"Mmm."

"Was he good?" 

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"Indulge me," Harry grinned. "I had a crush on him once, you know."

Sirius's jaw dropped. "You – _Harry!_"

"Jealous, are we?"

"Too right we are!" He nudged Harry's shoulder playfully. "Crushing on your professor. _Honestly_."

"Says the man shagging his godson."

"Bite me."

Harry obliged, clamping his teeth gently around the skin of Sirius's neck.

"Mmm..." Sirius allowed his eyes to fall shut. "Yeah, he was fantastic, by the way."

"Shut up."

They grinned.

Sirius entwined his fingers around Harry's.

"Tell me more," Harry whispered. "I've missed seeing your smile."

Sirius indulged him with one such melting smile, and thought for a moment.

"Remus..." he began with some difficulty. "He was – the last... the last link I had – to my past. To a time in my life when everything was okay. The last link I had to..."

"...To my father?" Harry finished.

Sirius swiped brusquely at the tears, staring down at the ground.

"Sirius... I'm his son, you know."

Sirius looked up at him, almost as though he had forgotten this little detail.

"I know, but you – you're not – I can't – it's not – "

Somehow, Harry understood. Sirius didn't want Harry to be forced into that weighted role, of being the source that still kept him connected to James. Especially after everything...

"Sirius..." Harry took the older man's hand in his own. "I know you don't want me to think you see me as some kind of substitute for my dad. And I know you don't. But... I'm proud to be his son. I love that I'm so much like him, and it's okay that you see that in me. When I used his wand, it was like... like he was part of me. Like, even though he's dead, I suddenly knew him somehow. You know?"

Sirius wasn't sure he did, but he nodded.

"I guess..." Harry went on, "what I mean is... you still have that link to him. Through me. And I have it too – through you."

Sirius blinked, not taking his eyes from Harry's.

"I want your life to be like that again," Harry said quietly. "Where everything's okay. I... want to make you happy."

Sirius lunged forward, trapping Harry in the most intense of kisses, and with it, saying everything he knew he needed to say – and somehow, Harry was able to read his mind.

_You make me happier than I've ever been my whole life, _it said.

The first traces of evening shadows began to appear, dancing over the two figures beside the water – but they were scarcely two figures anymore. Maybe it was just the play of fading light... but the two figures had merged into one, melting slowly against one another, closer, and closer, never separating save for breaths, until the white dots of constellations began to appear against a deepening purple sky.

-----------------------------------------------------

**finite incantatem.**


End file.
